


even the humblest pieces

by vasnormandy



Series: in this maze of leaves and lovely blood [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: THIS IS A PROLOGUE, it's also an excuse to bundle all the exposition into one place, several things to come, so i don't have to waste time on it when i get to the main body of this thing, to a thing to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:29:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasnormandy/pseuds/vasnormandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the woman stands in the shadows of the empty sept, her head bowed, concealed beneath a hood of soft, dull purple silk. she is not here to pray, unusually enough – not tonight. she is here to meet. || a prologue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even the humblest pieces

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

 

The woman stands in the shadows of the empty sept, her head bowed, concealed beneath a hood of soft, dull purple silk. She is not here to pray, unusually enough – not tonight. She is here to meet. But she has been kept waiting, so for as long as she is here alone, she will put the grand room to its intended purpose.

Her lips move almost without sound, but in the hollow, eerie silence of the sept, even her softest whispers seem loud to her ears. Her prayers go, of course, first to the Mother – hushed pleas for her mercy, her protection, her love. Not for herself, naturally, but for those she knows, and those she has made the grave mistake of permitting herself to love; those who play the deadly game that is Westerosi politics rather than remaining in the shadows, fanning the flames in the hopes that they burn in the right way.

She addresses the Crone next, for the wisdom that her position – and, in turn, her survival – necessitates. After that she will turn to the Maiden, to allow herself the desperate, ill-advised hope that the girl she was so long ago has not entirely faded from memory.

“Your gods do not live here.”

She falls silent at once, standing still for several moments before she turns to the voice. The flickering torches along the walls allow barely enough light to see by, but she can make out the round, well-dressed figure, with the firelight reflecting off his hairless head, well enough to recognize him.

“Where do they live, then?” she challenges.

The eunuch gives a slow shrug, stepping forward with his hands clasped behind his back. “Somewhere far from here, I would not doubt.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Believe what you will,” he responds, “but no god has touched this sept since poor, poor Ned Stark lost his head on its very steps.”

She does not respond to that, but sets her lips firm – she was there, of course, and she can still hear the petulant king’s order, see the blood staining the holy place.

The man draws a long breath. “Well. Nightingale.”

“Spider,” she counters. “I would expect this visit has a purpose beyond discussing atrocities against the Seven.”

“I did not select the meeting place, did I?” He casts his gaze around the chamber. “An interesting choice.”

“I do aspire to be interesting.” She keeps her eyes fixed on him – unwavering, expectant.

He gives a dainty sigh. “Very well. What sources remain to me have passed along some… intriguing whispers. I only hoped to see what could be verified. You seemed the one to speak to.”

“Match your little birds against mine?” she surmises, and tilts her head. Her eyes are still on him, unsympathetic; cold, uncompromising steel. “Your flock has grown pitiful, Spider. What do I stand to gain from this encounter?”

“The very same as I.” His exterior remains calm and smooth, and she knows he calculates every word before he drapes it in that silken voice and utters it. “A second opinion, so to speak.”

She gives a light laugh, and the sound of it reverberates through the hall, echoing off the towering walls, the arches stretching to the distant ceiling. “I think not. You hope to find you know something I do not. You think it will mean I have not succeeded in rendering you entirely obsolete.”

“Obsolete?” The Spider shakes his head. “I am biding my time, Sister. The Queen Regent’s paranoia grows each day this infestation of Tyrells continues. To whom do you think she will turn when she decides she cannot trust you?”

“Lord Tywin is Regent of the Seven Kingdoms,” she points out. “Not Queen Cersei.”

“And you have faith that will remain as it is, in times such as these?”

“If anything in this country is certain, it is Tywin Lannister.” She pauses, just long enough that she can cut him off as he opens his mouth to reply. “But,” she adds then, “nothing in this country is certain.”

“On that, we can agree.” He draws another long breath. “The little princess across the sea has turned her Dothraki toward Slaver’s Bay.”

She knows. “If she is anything like her lineage, she is not so little.”

“That is fair. The Pentaghasts were a formidable House.” He straightens his posture. “One must wonder, however – is she her father, or her brother?”

“An academic question. Neither man had dragons.”

His laugh is musical, but somehow sickening. “True enough,” he says, and then adds, “The Night’s Watch gathers most of their strength and journeys beyond the Wall.”

She knows. “I will not play this game with you, Spider,” she says coolly, turning to face away from him.

“White Walkers. A chilling idea, are they not?”

“You are telling me nothing I do not already know.”

“Stannis Baratheon still stews at Dragonstone,” he continues all the same. “He licks his wounds from the loss at Blackwater, but he is far from defeated. The Red Woman remains at his side.”

“Melisandre.” She does not care for the title men have assigned the red-haired, red-garbed witch. It seems far too reverent – as though she herself were something divine, rather than merely the pawn of the god she claims to serve. This Red Woman is only a woman. She would burn as easily as any.

“Yes,” the Spider assents. “Any insight to offer there?”

She glances back over her shoulder, her gaze sharp and chilled. “Why? Because we share an origin? I am nothing like Melisandre.”

“You are Asshai, Sister.”

“Asshai is a country. I am a person.” She turns her head away from him again. “Is that what you are waiting for, Spider? For me to show my true colors – renounce the Seven, turn to R’hllor, and try to set fire to King Joffrey’s bedsheets as he slumbers?”

“You, renounce the Seven?” He makes a soft _tsk_ sound. “I would not dare to dream it.” A moment of silence, and then: “The Stark boy continues his march. Though delayed by the trouble in Highever, House Cousland’s men have joined his ranks. Lord Bryce remains within his castle, but he has sent his son, along with the bulk of his men.”

She knows. “And his daughter.”

“And his daughter,” he agrees. “A lovely thing. I hear she has grown quite close to the Young Wolf himself.”

“He trusts her, yes.” All at once, her curiosity gets the better of her, and she turns to him and questions, “What do you know of the forces accompanying the siblings?”

“Not playing this game, are we?”

“I have neither interest in nor patience for your japes, eunuch. If you wish to compare information, then provide your information.” He opens his mouth, and she adds, “And do not give me what I could get from any child in the street.”

“As you wish.” He pulls in a long breath. “They bring numbers comparable to those of House Mormont, and no small company of knights. They are as loyal to young Lord Fergus as any man could ever hope his army to be.”

“And what of the daughter?”

He pauses. “Fergus is the elder, and a son. In his father’s absence, command is his. His sister has merely shown herself to be far more disposed to strategy and counsel, and fits better within the Stark boy’s company.”

A smile flickers across her face as full realization dawns on her. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Don’t know what?”

The smile widens, and she turns from him once again, taking several steps away from where the Spider stands. Oh, she remembers how formidable she found him when she arrived here – the man who knew everything, with an ear in every corner of the Red Keep, his spindly fingers stretching across Westeros. It amuses her a little, to see how the tables have turned.

“Robb Stark poses a threat to the Iron Throne,” she says, unable to help herself, “which he did not several fortnights ago.”

“Robb Stark wants only the North. He does not want to sit the Iron Throne.”

“No,” she confirms, “he does not. And he will not. But he has – whether he knows it or not – found himself in possession of a piece which could very well upset the furthest reaches of the game.”

She can practically feel the Spider’s intrigue. “I don’t suppose you intend to tell me of this piece.”

“Information is all that separates the powerful from the powerless, Varys,” she says, and now she can almost feel him falter. She never uses – has never used his given name, as he never uses hers. “No. I am not going to tell you.”

“Have you told Lord Tywin?”

“I may. When the time is right.”

“When the time suits you.”

“What other right time is there?”

“And what is to keep me from telling what little you have told me?”

Her laugh is just as quiet as her last, but colder. “An empty threat. You were in the employ of the Lannisters long enough to know you cannot run to them with unfounded theories and whispers of secrets that you yourself do not know.” This, she thinks, is perhaps what victory feels like. “Accept your defeat graciously, Varys.”

He leaves so quietly that several minutes pass before she entirely recognizes that she is, once again, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a shitton of exposition that I'm putting to use as an announcement of my intention to start a Dragon Age fic series set in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. If all goes as planned, the series will consist of three separate fics - one following the events in the Seven Kingdoms, one beyond the Wall, and one across the Narrow Sea. All three will occur simultaneously, and the hope is that I'll be writing and updating all three simultaneously. Each will have four point of view narrators, give or take. Canon characters from A Song of Ice and Fire will pop in as required by the story - as seen here, most of the elements of ASOIAF, like House Stark and House Lannister, have been maintained, but some have been altered or replaced (if you caught the Pentaghast-Targaryen thing, that's a perfect example). I'll also be futzing with the timeline a little bit to make things a little easier to follow, but for the most part we'll be dealing with the events of A Storm of Swords (for you show-watchers, that's basically the bulk of Season 3 and then Season 4). The result is that I'm not sure if this should technically be called an AU or a crossover - but all of the main characters, including all of the POV characters, will be Dragon Age characters, and the main plot arcs will all follow Dragon Age characters, with the ASOIAF characters present mostly just to make it so the world actually still (hopefully) makes sense, so I'm going with AU.  
> I've written a fair amount for this series already, but I want to get some more stuff in the buffer before I start posting it. With any luck, though, I'll kick this thing off soon.


End file.
